Midlife Spices: Menship and mentoring

The concept of menship, if not the actual word, may be as old as human history. Still, I didn't notice it until my husband decided to build a cradle for the grandchild we expect in December.

Oscar, experientially an elementary-school-level woodworker, found a plan he loved, bought wood he was excited about, then brought them to the Sawdust Engineers, our retirement community's woodworking club.

Offers of help from men who had been building beautiful things for years inundated him on the very first day. They helped him measure the raw wood and cut initial pieces, and each day, he came home more excited.

Seeing both his pleasure and his project grow, I decided to document the process in photos, and began visiting the clubhouse each week, calling myself the Ken Burns of cradle-building.

What I saw that warmed my heart was something I decided to call "menship," that is, men bonding over saws and sawdust, friendship growing out of a shared passion to be creative and make fine-looking things out of wood. Advice was rife — which piece of equipment to use, what grade sandpaper to begin with, what finish would be safe for a new baby.

But it wasn't only words that were shared; deeds became frequent, too. One by one, men who had already made cradles came over to help position the wood, drill the holes for the 30 spindles and sand them into a perfect fit for the 30 holes ready to receive them.

I stood quietly in a corner and watched them interact. Never mind what they had done in their work lives before retirement. Never mind who had power, status or wealth. All measures society so often imposes on relationships disappear during moments of menship. What matters is what happens to the wood, what helps a relative newcomer become more comfortable in a space full of intimidating equipment.

I saw my husband respond in kind — grateful for the advice, respectful of the shared experience and excited by the communal bonding that is bringing the cradle to life. Even as our daughter is nurturing our newest granddaughter to her birth, my husband and the Sawdust Engineers are giving birth as well.

Each time my husband returns from working on the cradle, his growing confidence and expertise are visible. When the cradle is complete, it will glide back and forth on bearings to the music of Brahms' lullaby.

Of course, we await the joy of seeing this put to use. But the delight that has come from the support Oscar is receiving will mark the time in a special way for him.

I think women tend to bond more with words, and men with actions. That is not to say that women don't mentor each other; they do, and several are woodworkers. But the vast majority of Sawdust Engineers are men, and seeing the shared pleasure of men bringing wood to life has comforted me and provided a kind of anchor in these uncertain times.

Judy Kramer can be reached by e-mail at JudyandOz@tampabay.rr.com. Her column appears here on alternate Wednesdays.